


Hotel Room

by stressy_boy



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Not A Happy Ending, Suicide, but i took it in my own direction, can be seen as nick, depression ?, not specified character, this is inspired by a saxxy award sfm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22406779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stressy_boy/pseuds/stressy_boy
Summary: Lonliness is an old friend .
Kudos: 3





	Hotel Room

**Author's Note:**

> this short piece of work was inspired by - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7hrF4Zpz0I  
> however, they end completely differently . the sfm is a complete work of art .

Loneliness wasn’t something new, it was an old friend; the only one he had. Cheap beer bottles are scattered around the room, sucked dry of their worth just like he was. The current bottle sitting in his ringed hand felt like a weight, unbearable and heavy but it didn’t stop him from placing it against his scarred and beaten lips. The liquid bubbles and leaves a foul taste behind, like wood shavings on his tongue. There is a dull thud against the hotel carpet as he slams the bottle down, fingers loosening on the dark glass and this time, wrap themselves around a black metal grip. His last precious possession, other than the suitcase that lays splayed with clothes spewing out of it. A cold, stainless steel revolver now sits within his hand, he unloads the chamber and allows the brass bullets to rain against the carpet; they clash as they fall, making mocking sounds of poker chips against the table. This was his last gamble.

With an uncharacteristically gentle grip, he picks up a singular bullet and places it in one of the slots of the chamber. The scraping sound reminding him of the slot machines, once again mocking him. He spins the chamber before sliding it home with a click.

The Gambler sighs, leaning back against the hotel bed, head facing straight as he feels the cold, almost inviting muzzle of the gun against his temple. Grey eyes squint and his thumb pulls the hammer back and it clicks in place; no going back. Inch by inch, his finger squeezes the trigger. The chamber is empty but it’s enough to startle him, to jump start the memories. He was thriving in the casinos, winning game upon game but of course he never did it with luck; _he cheated, like he always did. Cheated his way through life and now it came back to bite him tenfold_.

His body ached with the ghost pains of the beatings he took, his ribs, his nose, his eyes. They throbbed reminding him. The Gambler growled and swiped up the beer bottle and took another ghastly swig to null the tingling thoughts in his brain, to take away the truth of his worthlessness. He spins the chamber again, staring into the darkness of his hotel room, eyes void of emotion. The noise of the contraption felt louder than it should, reminding him of limited time, slowly stopping and clicking into place.

Another breath, another moment. He pressed the welcome muzzle of the gun to his temple; repeating the process of sliding the hammer back and his finger on the trigger. He was searching, searching for a reason not to chance it, but it was the sick thrill of The Gamble that urges him on. His vice, one that he welcomed with open arms.

He presses the trigger. 


End file.
